


Nightshade

by JulietteWolfe



Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Bruce is still AWOL, Bucky Needs Hugs, F/M, Natasha Feels, Protective Steve Rogers, Quicksilver lives because I said so, Reader is a mutant, Reader makes a good stand-in doc, Thor is hammer happy, goddamnit HYDRA, reader is awesome, so adorable
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-06-27
Updated: 2017-09-03
Packaged: 2018-07-18 12:45:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 16,221
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7315696
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JulietteWolfe/pseuds/JulietteWolfe
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You didn't choose this life.<br/>You never even got a chance to choose your own path. </p><p>But all these years later, you've finally attained your freedom, but you didn't make it out without some scars; inside and out.</p><p>Now, you're just trying to put your life back together and find your place in everything, all while dodging the ever-persistent HYDRA and juggling your new responsibilities as an impromptu Avenger.</p><p> NOTE: I will be re-editing the current chapters soon, as I realized that they are actually pretty messily written :P </p><p>This begins ~6 months before Civil War breaks out: stay tuned for craziness!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Washington, DC

You jolted awake. It was that same dream again, the one about the masked man. You had only caught a glimpse of him as you fled the bridge, but he had stuck in your subconscious like a bramble. You sat up on the cheap, uncomfortable bed in the abandoned apartment, wincing as the DIY stitches in your side pulled. You grabbed a water bottle off the floor and opened it, taking a few sips to calm your racing heart. You also took a few antibiotic pills; you couldn’t go to a hospital, so the last thing you wanted was a raging infection in your bloodstream. You blinked the last of sleep from your eyes, suddenly alert and listening. There was nobody in the building, and the street outside was silent.

You slowly, painfully stood up, the bullet wounds in your leg sending painful shockwaves through your body to each other injury like a bad connect-the-dots game. You limped into the grimy bathroom and looked at yourself in what was left of the mirror. Your (h/l), (h/c) hair was stringy and coated in grease, and your pallor made you look like a drug addict. You wanted so badly to get some new clothes, book a nice hotel room, get yourself cleaned up and redress your wounds, but you knew that taking risks in this town right now could be potentially deadly. Maybe you’d look around elsewhere, perhaps Chicago or New York City, where you could blend into large crowds. You sighed, grabbing the small bottle of hydrogen peroxide you had stolen, and hobbled back out to the main room. You poured it over the one wound you hadn’t had enough gauze for, a deep gash in your leg, clenching your teeth to hold back any sounds of pain. At least you had been able to stitch it closed. As the peroxide did its work, you pulled your small billfold wallet out of a backpack that you had also stolen. You counted out the money that was inside; you had $305. Sighing, you slid your laptop out of the case and turned it on; you had hacked its system to change its IP and other identifying info, so you couldn’t be tracked down. You looked up train times from Washington, DC to New York City, inwardly cringing at the steep prices. At least you could cover the costs. You put your laptop away, wiped off the peroxide foam and poured water on it to wash off any that stayed behind, and pulled your pant leg back down. You then moved to collect your things, your injuries causing you to move infuriatingly slow for your taste, and shoved your things where they fit in the backpack. You carefully swung on your long, deep-hooded coat, then the heavy backpack, finally pulling the disguising hood over your head. You limped out into the half-destroyed hallway, turned right, and limped down four flights of barely-stable stairs. Luckily you were only a few blocks away from Union Station. 

You left the building silently, like a shadow. You slunk through various alleyways and stuck to the corners that the streetlamps neglected to light, slowly but steadily making your way to the train station. You caught a couple of odd looks from people who happened to be out, mostly homeless people and people who were walking home from work late at night. You kept your eyes open for every sign of movement, and your ears listened for the smallest sounds in the night. Eventually, the train station came into view, and you took a deep breath. You were trading one poison for another--leaving the danger of the streets at night for the danger of being more easily spotted by the people you were trying to avoid. You weren’t exactly inconspicuous in your long, dark coat.

Upon entering, you were blown away by the architecture. You had seen it a million times, but it never ceased to amaze you. You paid for your ticket, keeping your head down, and then got onto the train. Luckily you got there in time to make it, instead of having to wait on the next train to eventually show up. You sat by the door, not trusting anyone enough to sit toward any enclosed end of the train car. There were only four or five people there, but it was still far too many to be comfortable. The train lurched as it left the station, sending more pain rushing through your body. You wondered what you looked like to the other people on the train, deciding that you probably looked like a homeless goth. They threw occasional glances at your back, and you knew they were trying to stare at the misshapen lump. You tried to ignore them, but their stares seemed to bore into you. It wasn’t even that bad of a hunch—it didn’t even rise above your shoulders, and was somewhat flat to your back. It was nothing like Quasimodo’s, but people still gawked like it was. You watched them all suspiciously, silently daring them to try anything if any of them happened to work for your enemies. Eventually all but one of them dozed off, and the remaining one pulled out his phone and starting flicking through it. You tried not to be paranoid, but you were tense all the same. You trusted nobody, and you didn’t dare risk the hipster to be anyone normal. 

Taking a deep breath, you stared at him and focused your abilities, and closing your eyes, you entered his mind. There were a thousand things you could have looked at, like a gallery of never-ending and ever-changing pictures, but you shifted your focus until you found his eyes. Looking through them, you studied his phone. He was scrolling through a seemingly endless list of kale recipes on Pinterest. Pulling yourself out of his mind and re-entering yours, you were careful not to move too much, due to your injuries. You were dizzy and lightheaded, but it always happened when you looked through another person’s eyes for that long; you could read someone’s thoughts or history of memories in seconds and know everything and anything about them, but something about the strong current of memories being created, meaningful or not, knocked you on your ass. You still didn’t trust him, but as far as you could tell, he was harmless. He swayed a little; you could tell he got dizzy as well. You slowly leaned back and rested your head on the back of the seat, keeping yourself in an alert limbo between consciousness and unconsciousness.

Three hours later, you were stepping off the train at Penn Station. You needed to try to find somewhere safe while you tracked down the one last person you trusted, and made a plan to get to them. At least you were limping less as you left the station, but still going slow. You kept your head down as you wove through the dawn rush-hour crowd, your dark attire making you stand out like a crow surrounded by parakeets. After slinking down a couple of back streets, you finally found a decent motel. You paid and went to your room, where you dumped your backpack. You jumped in the shower the minute you found the towels under the sink, being very cautious about your various wounds. Wrapping a towel around yourself when you were done, you looked around to find a first aid kit tucked in the medicine cabinet. You dried off and redressed your wounds, including the one on your leg. You pulled out the last clean set of clothes in your backpack—underwear, jeans and an inconspicuous, black hoodie—and threw them on. Your tactical corset remained on, giving it a quick once-over cleaning with a towel; it was better protection than just the comparatively thin hoodie.

You dragged out your laptop again, pulling up your hacking software, and you hesitated for a short moment; you had done this several times over the past few months, but each time always had a greater possibility of you getting caught. You typed in the specialized address, pulling up the SHIELD login screen. You typed a code into your software and it granted you access, enabling you to roam through their system freely. You browsed through the latest entries, small pieces of intel that the last team had brought back from a mission. Nothing of importance there. Then you moved on to the search, typing ‘Natasha Romanoff’ into the search box. A red “No Results” message flashed on the screen, repeating as you tried Natalie, Natalia and Black Widow. Furrowing your eyebrows in confusion, you huffed, closing the window and leaning back on the pillows. You felt a lot better after the shower and double-redressing, but you’d feel a lot better once you were safe.


	2. New York, New York.....

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After a long train ride, you finally make it to New York unharmed. 
> 
> Where will you go from here, reader?
> 
> Read on and find out :)

You slept the day away in the motel, half-waking with every little external noise. You regretted using your last painkillers yesterday, but there was nothing you could do about it now. You eventually decided that sleeping was futile around 4:30 in the afternoon, and slowly sat up on your pillow. You swung your legs over the bed and winced as you stood up, leaning on the nightstand for support. Limping over to your bag, you half-sat, half-collapsed next to it; repeating your ritual from the day before, you took your antibiotics, then pulled out your laptop. Today you not only tried Natasha, but you also tried the names of some of the last people you knew she had worked with—Steve Rogers, Tony Stark, even Clint Barton. You tried every alias, but exactly nothing came up. This was getting frustrating. Slamming your laptop shut, you sighed heavily through your nose, and stretched out your injured leg, grimacing as you did so. You had another plan, but it was risky, and you were really in no position to fight. Not like you had much of a plan otherwise though, the SHIELD database was proving useless. Reopening your laptop, you pulled up Google Maps, and typed in Stark Tower, NYC. Nothing happened, and you stared at your laptop in disbelief. You went to the main Google page, and searched Stark Tower there instead. An article excerpt, from one of the many search results, read, “Stark Tower was converted into the Avengers Tower during its renovation, after the top floors were all but destroyed by the alien attack 2 years ago, on May 4th, 2012”. You raised your eyebrows at the run-on sentence before going back to Google Maps. This time, you typed in “Avengers Tower,” and you got a response.The map zoomed in and showed the building, along with the address: 200 Park Avenue. You quickly memorized the address and found the fastest route from the motel to the tower. 

Giving your wounds one last redressing, you zipped up your bag and headed out the door for Stark Tower. You pointedly tried to avoid the main streets; pedestrian traffic was just as bad as 5 o'clock rush hour car traffic. Eventually you got to a point where you couldn’t slip along backstreets inconspicuously anymore, and you ducked into an alley. It was dark out now, and the first stars that weren’t blotted out by the bright NYC lights were just starting to twinkle in the sky. You climbed over a gate in the alley and silently dropped onto the other side, biting your lip to silence a yelp of pain as you landed on your injured leg, and clinging to the side of one of the buildings. The rough bricks grazed your hands as you made your way to the end of the alley, and you peeked around the corner from the shadows. A tall building came into view, and at the very top, a large sign reading 'Avengers' shone like a pale beacon. You studied your surroundings, letting your gaze linger on the crowd. You focused your powers again, much like you did on the train, but you let it settle over the general populous in the area. This was more like a telepathic Google search; you focused for key words, ideas, or terms that might be in the head of who you were looking for; in this case, your enemy. You felt nothing, no pulls directing you towards any one person or area—you were safe for now. 

You opened your eyes and took a deep breath before slipping out of the alley and into the crowd. You darted across a crosswalk-as fast as you could in your state- just before the light was about to change, and did your best to meld with the crowd on the other side of the street. You felt claustrophobic, yet exposed; in a way, you felt like a fish being forced downstream by a thousand other swimming fish, and you hated it. You mumbled a quiet “ ’scuse me” as you made your way to the edge of the crowd, escaping just in time to stand in front of the Avengers tower. You took a deep breath—you hadn’t expected to get here so fast, yet here you were. You stepped up to the glass doors, fully aware of the security camera pointed directly at you. You gently pushed open the door just enough for you to squeeze in, much like how a cat slinks through a barely-opened door. It closed behind you with a quiet thud, and you walked up to the front desk. You pulled back your hood just enough to half-reveal your slightly bandaged face. The woman at the desk glanced up and greeted you with a disapproving look. 

“Can I help you?” she asked, pulling one of those obviously-fake smiles as her eyes fell on your scar. It started just above your eyebrow and trailed in a vertical line, skipping your eye, and ending at the peak of your cheekbone. 

You moved your head so it was cast in shadow and replied, “Yes, I’m a friend of the Avengers—I was told to come here at this time?” you lied easily, looking straight into her hazel eyes. If you stared into the eyes of another long enough, it dulled down their ability to question things, sort of like when vampires glamour a human.

“The elevator is over there, the main room is on floor 91.” 

You nodded your thanks and limped over to the elevator, pressing the up button before drumming your fingers on your arm. The elevator dinged and the doors slid open with a smooth, high-tech hiss, and you stepped in. You immediately noticed that the floor selection pad only went up to 86. You furrowed your eyebrows in confusion—the receptionist said floor 91, you heard it loud and clear. You pushed the button for floor 86—maybe there was someone up there who knew what to do. The elevator moved swiftly and smoothly upward, and you leaned back on the railing, lightly tugging your hood forward to cover your face again. A few minutes later, the elevator slowed to a stop. You looked to see what floor you were on, only to discover that the elevator had stopped at floor 65. You eyed the door warily, tensing as you began anticipating an attack. The doors slid open and two men walked in—one you recognized as Steve Rogers, aka Captain America. The other you recognized as the man in the robotic wing-suit who helped during the fall of the Triskelion, but you didn’t know his name. Both men remained silent as the elevator continued on its quest upwards—you had a feeling that they were heading for the mysterious upper floors, and were just waiting for you to get off the elevator. You stealthily slid your fingers into your pocket, focusing your gaze straight ahead. You pulled out a tiny camera, about as big as a small bead, and lightly scratched off the sticky backing. Working entirely by feel, you stuck the camera to the wall of the elevator, behind and just above the railing. You placed the backing in your pocket, so as not to leave any evidence, and readjusted your weight onto your other leg. The elevator slowed and dinged as it reached your stop, and you got out, barely nodding at the other two occupants.


	3. Avengers Tower

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wow, it's been a while!!! I meant to update over the summer, but things got away from me!!  
> A new chapter, and a happy Thanksgiving to you all!!  
> I hope you enjoy it ^_^

A cool air-conditioner breeze carrying the smell of office supplies hit your face as you exited the elevator. A young woman nearly walked into you as you entered the room full of cubicles and workers typing away on the high-tech interfaces. You wandered over to the ceiling-high windows on the right side of the room, trying to look as nonchalant as possible. The view made you dizzy as you looked down through the window, the cars on the street below nothing more than tiny ant-sized specks. Glancing to your left, you spied a door labeled “Supplies.” You looked around behind you to make sure you weren’t being watched, then jogged over to the door, half expecting it to open into a small stuffy closet messily packed with boxes, but instead you found yourself in a large room, surrounded by towers of neatly-stacked, neatly-labeled tubs and containers. After you ensred that the door was locked and that you would not be disturbed, you sat down on a tall box labeled “Lab Coats”. 

Pulling out your laptop once again, you opened your tech software and typed in the code to view the feed from the small camera you left in the elevator. It was empty now—so you rewound the video. You watched yourself walk out of the elevator, and you turned up the volume on your computer, sticking a pair of earbuds into the jack on the side. The doors hissed shut again, and you heard the wing-suit man give a short laugh. 

“I’ve seen odd people before, but that lady was just weird,” he said, and Rogers shifted toward the middle of the elevator.

“You’re tellin’ me. You think we should go after her to see what that was about? She doesn’t look like one of Stark’s workers, she wasn’t in uniform,” Rogers said worriedly, pressing his thumb to the wall above and to the left of the floor selection pad. You watched with a triumphant smirk as a new selection pad lit up to the right of his thumb, listing floors 87-98. Rogers tapped 94 and 91, and the elevator continued on its upward journey.

"Nah, she's probably just here for a nighttime job interview. I hear Stark had a bunch of late-shift people leave recently," the wing-suit man replied, and Rogers gave him a "you have a point" nod. The doors hissed open on floor 91, and Rogers walked out into a main living room. It continued upwards, then opened on 94, and you watched the wing-suit man walk into a room that looked like a gym. 

You closed the software and put your laptop back in your backpack before standing up, swinging your bag over your shoulder, and stretching. You made your way back to the elevator, dodging people as you did so, still trying to remain unnoticed despite the nervous excitement that welled up in your stomach. You pressed the up button and waited patiently for the elevator to arrive, taking a few deep breaths to calm your nerves; you figured you wouldn’t be given a very warm welcome by most of the Avengers at first, but knowing that they didn’t trust you on sight made you less confident in a good outcome. 

The doors hissed open once again, and you stepped in cautiously. Glancing up as you turned around, you saw a high-tech security camera perched in the corner of the elevator. You nonchalantly put your hands in your sweatshirt pocket, taking hold of the signal-blocking device concealed within. Needless to say, you were prepared for all situations; every clothing item you owned that had pockets had a waterproof signal blocker sewn into the lining, with only the button exposed. You stretched your left had towards the number pad, as if you were going to select a lower floor, pressing the signal blocker as you did so. Knowing you had only 60 seconds, maybe less before the Avengers realized the security camera was out, you swung your backpack onto the floor, unzipping the top zipper in one smooth motion. 

You pulled out fingerprint dust and a surgical glove, then quickly zipped up your backpack and stood up. Unscrewing the dust in record time, you dusted over the spot where Rogers had pressed down his thumb, revealing the print. You replaced the cap and thrust the bottle back into the backpack, pulling off the clear adhesive on the thumb of the glove. You hastily pressed the thumb of the glove to the print, cleanly removing the print from the wall. You brushed off the rest of the fingerprint dust with your sleeve as you took another steadying breath. Adrenaline raced through your veins as you pressed the print back to the concealed scanner, your thermal reading mixing with the print’s outline through the glove. A holographic number pad appeared above the other buttons, listing numbers 87-100. You quickly tapped 91, and as the elevator began to move, you took off the glove and stuffed it in your backpack as well, and as you resumed a nonchalant pose against the back of the elevator, you pressed the signal button again, allowing the camera to resume its work.


	4. Long Time, No See....

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This story is moving slow XD
> 
> Basically, as far as warnings go, this is one big fight scene between the on-site Avengers and the reader. 
> 
> Also, the Russian translation:  
> Наталия- Natalia
> 
> Happy reading!!! :D

 The elevator slowed to a stop and hissed open, revealing a massive living room. It was furnished with incredibly-comfortable looking seating—another of Stark’s personal expenditures, no doubt—with a fully-stocked bar in the back, and the biggest TV you had ever seen. The ceiling-to-floor windows accented the room nicely, and the windowsills looked like they would be cozy places to sit and read in. You broke yourself away from admiring the room, putting all your senses on high alert as you cautiously stepped out of the elevator. The room was dead silent, and you instinctively silenced your footsteps. You listened for the smallest of noises, and your eyes darted around the room at lightning speed, analyzing every surface of the room and committing the layout to memory. It wasn’t a conscious act; it was a habit that had been drilled into you over the past 16 years. You silently slid your backpack off your shoulder and set it down behind a couch cautiously, your eyes continually flitting around. Something didn’t feel right—a feeling of perpetual suspense hanging in the air, like the room itself was holding its breath.

Suddenly, you heard a soft _twang_ , and the high-pitched whistling of an arrow flying through the air. You ducked without thinking, and the arrow flew over you, hitting the window with a loud _clink_. Your head snapped to where it came from, your gaze landing on a blonde man with short hair. You began to automatically analyze him; he was about your height, slightly shorter, with a somewhat muscular build—you could tell he only really relied on hand-to-hand combat if it was needed; you could take him out easily if need be, but you wouldn’t fight unless it was required.

And of course, your luck being your luck, that was exactly what happened next.

Just as you stood up, you heard heavy footsteps running at you from behind. You whipped around just in time to see Rogers, in full Captain America uniform, slam into you like a semi-truck. You shifted your weight and used his momentum against him, sending him careening over your shoulder and the back of the couch next to you. You almost burst out laughing at how comical that must’ve looked to the archer; a fairly short girl of slight stature, essentially throwing a supersoldier right over her head. You couldn’t dwell on it though; the next attack came only a split second later. You ducked just in time to avoid taking a skull-splitting hit from Thor’s hammer, and you felt the airstream from the velocity lightly tug at your hood. You braced on the floor and kicked out with your good leg, hitting the Asgardian squarely in the back of the knee. Combined with the hammer’s momentum, Thor easily lost his balance, faceplanting into the top cushions of the couch. By now, you didn’t even feel your injuries; your adrenaline had that covered for now, at least, but you didn’t want to risk opening them up again. You were sure your cautions were futile, however, when Thor, having recovered his balance, flung you into the wall via hammer to the stomach. You heard a crack on impact and landed hard on the tiled floor, unsure if the crack was the wall you slammed into or a bone in your spine. As you lay there, dazed, you watched Thor strut over to the seating area, asking if Rogers was alright. The constant attacks had ceased for a moment, so you took the opportunity to reassess your surroundings.

Thor was checking over Rogers, who had rolled face-first into the coffee table on the other side of the couch, and now sported a bloody nose. The archer was nowhere to be seen. You gulped a few breaths as you lay there; the adrenaline hadn’t entirely worn off yet, but it was enough to tell you that when it finally did, you would be in excruciating pain. You heard a small noise above you—something akin to thin sheet metal bending in, and popping back into place.

Slowly, being careful not to alert the two blonde brick walls, you dizzily sat up. The pain from your previous injuries was growing by the second. Once more, you scolded yourself for using your last painkiller. The second you got on your feet, an air conditioning vent fell out of the ceiling directly behind you. You spun around in surprise to discover that it hadn’t fallen; it was kicked, and that the same feet that had removed it were now streamlined to kick you in the face. You bent backwards as well as you could, in a way that reminded you of the guy from Matrix, and you watched as the combat boot-clad feet swung right over you. ‘Nice ass’, you thought, getting a glimpse of his behind as the man’s feet swung back the other way. The man dropped from the vent, landing like a cat. You recognized him instantly; his metal arm gleamed in the pale moonlight filtering through the window, and his build was much like Rogers’—The Winter Soldier, also known as James Buchanan Barnes. You may have been able to deflect the other Greek-sculptures of the team, but you knew he attacked with too much precision and ruthless determination to be easily thrown off his game.

He lunged at you, aiming a punch at your face; you blocked him as fast as he hit. He didn’t falter, and neither did you, as you matched his hits and actions as fast as they came. You kicked him in the chest, catching him off-guard and knocking him back a few steps. You ran over to the living room, stopping between two couches, and taking only a second to register the shock on Rogers’ and Thor’s faces. Barnes was right on your tail, and you came nearly face-to-face with him as you turned. Pre-regretting your actions, you braced a hand on the back corners of each couch, and just as Barnes came within 3 feet of you, you kicked off the floor and slammed the balls of your feet into his chest, kicking out with every leg muscle available to you. You saw his eyes widen as he _flew_ backwards, landing flat on his back and sliding over the tile into the far wall. You felt blood trickle down your calf and thigh; you must’ve torn open the stitches. You walked towards him, intending to check for blood—he looked like you had just knocked him out cold—when you heard someone swing down from the vent just behind you.

You turned on your heel to see Natasha Romanoff standing directly behind you. You didn’t get a chance to say anything before she began attacking, and just like with Barnes, you matched her—speed for speed, hit for hit. You didn’t want to hurt her--hell, you didn’t want to hurt any of them, but they weren’t giving you much of a choice. She punched with her left, you caught her arm and redirected it to her far right, twisting to face her left and kicking her legs out from under her, causing her to land flat on her back. You turned to be met with Barnes’ fist colliding with your temple. The force of the hit spun you to the side, leaving you dazed. You stood up quickly, and Natasha matched your movements. It suddenly occurred to you that your hood was still cloaking your features, which explained why Natasha was attacking you, instead of recognizing you; when you ducked Barnes’ feet, you didn’t bend back quite far enough for it to fall off. Natasha was already poised to attack. You immediately pulled off your hood so she could get a clear view of your face, but at first, you saw no recognition from her whatsoever.

“Наталия,” you said softly, your eyes wide—not with fear, but with the worry that she no longer recognized you. It had been a long time, after all.

She scrutinized your face, and her eyes fell on your scar. Her eyes widened in recognition and disbelief. “(y/n)?!” she replied, her voice quiet and choked with emotion.

That’s when you felt the sharp sting of a needle in the side of your neck, and the world immediately went black.


	5. While You Were Sleeping

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lots and lots and lots of updates!!!  
> I'm so glad that my writer's block took the holiday off XD 
> 
> This chapter details the events of while you were unconscious :)

  “James Buchanan Barnes!!” Natasha yelled, disbelief written all over her face.

  “What?? She attacked us, she was distracted, I knocked her out!!” he retorted, dropping the sedative arrow Clint had shot at you earlier.

  Nat knelt down and rolled you over, staring at your face with a very haunted expression. The last time she saw you, you were being dragged away down a cold, sterile hallway by your hair, the open wound over your eye dripping blood as you thrashed and screeched her name, screaming for her to help you.

  “I’m going to let everyone know what just went down,” Steve said, motioning for Bucky to follow him out.

  “How do you know her?” Thor asked, his eyebrows furrowed in confusion.

   Natasha had simply tuned everyone out to take in the girl she saw before her. She didn’t reply; rather, a lone tear ran down her cheek. This confused Thor greatly; even when Banner left, she didn’t really outwardly express her emotions about it, but yet here she was, crying over a stranger who she had been fighting only moments before.  She ran her fingers through your (h/c) hair, examining the wounds on your face.  
  
  Thor rested his hand on her shoulder, breaking her focus. “Let’s get her somewhere comfortable."

  She nodded and moved back, allowing him space to pick you up. He did so, very gently, looking to Natasha for directions. “She has fresh blood on her leg; let’s take her up to the infirmary,” she suggested, her voice cracking. Thor nodded, and they walked to the elevator.

  When they reached the infirmary, Thor laid you on one of the beds ever-so-carefully, still unsure of why Nat was still so protective of you, but not wanting to risk stokingher wrath unintentionally.“I’ll take care of her,” Nat told him, and he nodded as he left the room, glancing over his shoulder a few times before he finally reached the waiting elevator.  Nat called over a couple of the on-staff nurses, and they began to fix you up. Before long, all of your wounds had been redressed and professionally cleaned, a few IVs were stuck in your arms, a heart monitor was beeping steadily next to you, and you were clad in a pretty, but loose, white nightgown taken from Nat's personal wardrobe. Nat sat at your bedside, like a guard dog; she was clearly still trying to comprehend your existence.

  The elevator hissed open some time later, and Steve stepped out, redressed in normal civilian clothes. “We need to talk to you,” he began, concern written over his features. Nat looked at him, concerned, but his expression was gentle. She sighed and reluctantly followed him, glancing back towards your bed. She followed him back into the living room, where the rest of the Avengers who were at home had gathered. Steve sat down, and everyone looked at her questioningly.

  “So who is she? Clearly you know her,” Clint said, his eyes boring into Nat’s.

  After a moment’s hesitation, Nat simply replied, “She’s my sister.” Everyone, simultaneously, donned a look that was similar to someone who had literally shit themselves.

  "I...didn’t know you had a sister,” Steve said quietly. It was apparent that everyone was waiting for some sort of explanation. Nat sighed and leaned on the back of a chair.

  “I never really let on that I have one. To be honest, I thought she was dead. I haven’t seen or heard anything from or about her since the Black Widow program sold—literally, sold—her to HYDRA when she was 6. I was 8 at the time, and they made me sit there, helpless and tied to a chair, while they dragged her away; by her hair, nonetheless!! One of the guys slammed her head into a mirror and broke it; the glass sliced her face open, that’s how she got the scar on her eye. There was nothing I could do,” she said, tears threatening to fall. “They beat me senseless for showing emotion about losing her—I can only imagine what HYDRA did to her for showing her emotions—and later, when I asked what HYRDA did to her, they simply told me that she 'didn’t live up to their expectations'.  I never saw her again, until today.”

  “But how do you know it’s her? If they sold her to HYDRA, it could be someone disguised as an older version of her. Or they could have made clones, sort of like they did with Bucky,” Steve said, his expression turning wary. Even though the other Winter Soldiers were only clones ability-wise, he wouldn't put it past Hydra to try to genuinely clone people.

  “It’s her. There are some things about her that even they wouldn’t be able to clone. Bucky was a standard human—a supersoldier, yes—but still 100% human form. His physiology would be easy to duplicate if someone figured out how. Mutant genes are significantly harder to clone, if not impossible; or so I’ve heard,” Nat deadpanned. If it were possible, everyone’s eyebrows raised even further upon the word “mutant”.

  “They _made_ Pietro and Wanda into mutants. What makes you think that they couldn’t clone a mutation?” Bucky challenged, leaning forward in his seat.

   “That’s exactly it; they made them into mutants, they specifically analyzed and manipulated their DNA. In theory, they could have cloned the Maximoffs using the same DNA blueprints.  (Y/n)’s mutation was pre-existing, she was born with it. It can be nearly impossible to locate the exact mutated genes in the DNA, and usually any attempts to “fix” the mutation make the mutation itself a lot more complex and observable,” she replied, standing her ground.

  “You seem to know an awful lot about this subject,” Clint muttered, examining the spent tranquilizer arrow.

  “I’ve read the research, and I’ve seen the evidence. You know that one guy on the X-Men team? The fluffy blue monkey-like one? His mutation used to just be in his feet, before he tried to cure it,” she reasoned, leaving no room for argument. Clint rolled his eyes in response, and everyone shifted in their seats.

   “So what’s her mutation?” Thor asked. He was getting better at speaking like a Midgardian, and less like someone from Medieval Europe.

  “Ladies and gentlemen,” FRIDAY said, interrupting them all.


	6. Alive and Kicking

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So I had an idea, and I thought this was going to be a shorter chapter......  
> nope!!!!
> 
> So here we are :D
> 
> Have fun, and enjoy!!!
> 
> But be warned:  
> There is lots and lots of drama and fighting!! Not *too* graphic, but just a heads up ^_^

           You woke with a start, entirely disoriented. You were in a fairly small room, with floor to ceiling windows that looked out over the dark city skyline. A tug on your arm gained your attention as you shifted position, and you looked down to find a few IVs firmly lodged in your vein. You also felt like a mummy, with all the bandages wrapped around your various injuries, and the heart monitor sensors stuck to your skin were really starting to itch. You were lying in a hospital-style bed, though it was significantly nicer than standard ones. You looked up at the clock on the wall; it was well into the night, as was backed up by the tar sky outside the windows. You lay there a moment, remembering what had transpired with the Avengers; definitely not a warm welcome, lots of fighting, and then you saw her—Natasha. You remember something hit you across the head, but that was all you remembered. Sighing, you resigned yourself to the notion that even though you had been bandaged up and put on an IV, you were most definitely not welcome here. No matter how much you needed the help, your wounds being what they were in your current state, you weren’t going to force sympathy out of people who wanted nothing to do with you.

  
            Slowly, as not to alert anyone who might be in the deserted-looking hallways, you scooted over and unplugged the heart rate monitor from the wall. It gave one final protesting beep, before the screen faded to black and the persistent noise silenced for good. You ripped the taped monitors off your chest, hissing lightly at the painful sting that followed. Then, you carefully pulled the IVs out of your arm and pinched the flow adjuster so nothing could escape; even if you were going to make a run for it, you weren’t going to waste their resources on your way out. You carefully and quietly lowered the metal bed railing, willing it not to squeak; thankfully, it glided down silently, and you let out a breath of relief. As you stood up, you realized that you were only clad in a simple white nightgown; definitely not escape material. Your cheeks flushed with embarrassment, and you sincerely hoped that it was just some on-staff nurse, or even your sister who had changed your clothes--then it wouldn’t be as weird as if it were, say, Steve Rogers or Thor. You immediately began looking for your clothes, moving swiftly from one place to the other, keeping an ear out for any oncoming footsteps from beyond the door. Finally, you found them dumped at the bottom of a hamper. You pulled out your bloodstained clothes, and immediately dropped your gown. You put on your pants, then your shoes. You made to put on your corset—a special one you personally developed, to hold everything in place yet still allow freedom of movement (thank god for microtechnology), and your face paled. The most obvious part of your mutation had retracted back under your skin involuntarily while you were fighting; normally you would use it to give you a leg up, but since you didn’t intend on such an explosive entry, you had kept it under wraps, and when you fought it did what your body naturally did, which was to remove and shut down anything you weren’t using to fight so your senses could heighten and allow you to fight more efficiently. It wasn’t going to be pretty when it came out again—it would have to tear through your skin and flesh the way it did when your mutation first made itself known.

 

           You tightened your tactical corset comfortably—it was modest for a corset, and went well over your shoulders and chest, covering the majority of your upper body. It was a dark black, simple, and moved with you more like a cami. You decided to leave the sweatshirt—it would just get in the way, especially if you ended up having to fight your way out, plus your unnaturally high body temperature would keep you warm if it was too chilly out. You ran to the stairwell door and listened against it for any sign of the Avengers approaching; nothing. You stood up straight and reached out with your mind instead, to gauge exactly where they were. You locked onto their mental auras, tracking them. You couldn’t be too invasive, or they’d know you were awake—or at least, Natasha would—and come running. They were a surprising distance above you; 3,4 stories, maybe. You would have thought they'd have stayed closer to their latest prisoner. Even if they did notice you were awake, you’d at least have a head start. You withdrew from searching and entered your own head again, slightly swaying with the sudden disorientation. You opened the door quietly, and began running down the stairs, taking them two at a time, and silently cursed yourself for taking off your backpack and leaving it upstairs.

 

\----------------

          “What is it FRIDAY?” Steve asked, concerned.

  
          “It appears that miss Romanoff is awake,” she replied, but before the AI could finish, the Avengers were already heading towards the elevator. Once they were all in the elevator, Clint pushed the button for the infirmary floor.

 

           “I’m afraid you would be better off heading for the ground floor, Mr. Barton. She’s already on the final quarter of flights down,” FRIDAY finished.

 

         “What?! Why didn’t you say anything before?!” Bucky demanded with an air of exasperation.

 

          “I was trying to, but you were already in the elevator,” she replied, as matter-of-factly as her AI voice could manage. “I redirected you to the ground floor.”

 

           “FRIDAY, lock down the building. We can’t let her get out,” Natasha said. “We don’t know what she’s capable of--not anymore, at least. We can’t risk her getting out into the city if she’s volatile,” she reasoned to the team.

 

 ----------------

 

               You heard the elevator coming down, and you could sense that the Avengers were all there. They clearly didn’t want you here as an ally, and you sure as hell weren’t going to let yourself remain their prisoner. You slid down the last stretch of railing and jumped off, slamming into the door to the lobby, dodging the few janitors who were milling about on their various jobs as you headed for the outside world.. You slammed open the heavy main door just as a heavy metal shutter crashed down immediately behind you. You stood in mild shock for a moment, surprised that you actually made it out before the tower got locked down.

 

               Suddenly, it occurred to you that they weren’t going to stop just because the lockdown didn’t catch you. Taking a deep breath, you turned and immediately began sprinting up the street. Thankfully, there weren’t hardly any people out at this time of night, so you had a reasonably clear path; however, that also meant you would be more easily spotted than you would be if you could mingle into a crowd. You ducked down an alleyway, never slowing your pace as you leapt up to the top of a gate, catching it and launching yourself over. You paused to listen, and you heard voices in the distance.  “She can’t have gotten far,” you heard Natasha call to the team, and you momentarily froze. They were on your tail. You kept running, darting across the next street like a stray cat, catching a momentary break in the New York nightlife traffic. You were moving at a good clip now, managing to keep up with the speeding traffic. You hated the people that did this to you, but sometimes the super-soldier serum was a blessing. You heard quick footsteps behind you, and you glanced over your shoulder. Steve and Bucky were only a block behind you, the determination to catch you evident on their faces as they fought to catch up. You upped your speed; you could be pretty damn fast if you gave it your all. You pushed yourself, reaching your top speed in a matter of seconds. You heard the two men fall behind, their own footsteps fading behind you. As nice as this speed was for getting away, you could only hold it for a few minutes before you would have to slow down.

 

              You saw something out of the corner of your eye, and it made you look over for a moment. A black SUV was pacing you. At first, you passed it off as a coincidence of traffic; and then you remembered that the speed limit was 35, and you were going nearly double that on the sidewalk. You saw a movement in the tinted passenger window, and you involuntarily ducked as a bullet flew over your head. The fast movement compromised your balance, sending you careening across the sidewalk and into a glass shop window. You raised yourself on your hands and knees, dazed, and pulled a sizeable shard of glass out of your upper arm. You more or less threw yourself out of the way as another bullet came flying through the window. You pulled yourself up, flinching as you heard more gunshots outside. You wove through the racks of clothes, jumping as the in-store alarm went off. You heard two people break through the other shop windows, and you slid in between some coats that were hanging on a rack. You didn’t know if it was HYDRA or Steve and Bucky; in all honesty, you really didn’t care--you were running from them all. You heard the two figures pass you, heading for the dressing rooms. Once they were out of sight, you ran for the front of the store. You paused momentarily, looking outside for any sign of HYDRA or the Avengers. You didn’t see anyone, but you heard several people fighting down the street. You stepped over the window ledge, looking towards the source of the sound. Steve and Bucky were fighting off several HYDRA agents, and the other Avengers were close behind in one of Stark’s cars. You were tempted to run, just to get away from it all, but something stopped you.

 

                Without thinking, you rushed into the fray, just as a couple dozen more HYRDA agents showed up and the other Avengers jumped out of the car. You pounced on the agent trying to overpower Bucky, knocking him to the ground. Another rushed towards you, and you kicked him square in the no-no spot. He keeled over, and you shoved him back into a couple of other agents with the same foot. You punched the first agent in the side of the head, knocking him unconscious, and swirled around again to land a blow in the face of another, sending him reeling into other agents. You dodged the fighting around you; more and more HYDRA agents were swarming the area. You ran at a lightpost and swung around it with both hands, kicking 3 agents in the face. You landed, catlike, and kicked another in the lower back, cringing mildly at the loud crack. The fight went on for what seemed like hours, a long, drawn out dance of dodging and striking. You saw some of the HYDRA cars leave, but you only had time to register that before you had to fight another agent. By the time the dust had settled, the HYDRA agents were either gone, unconscious, or dead, and everyone was looking pretty beat up.

 

             “I’m not a threat to you guys,” you croaked insistently, your throat parched from the sudden dehydration. The Avengers looked over to you, mildly surprised that you were there, and that you hadn't taken the opportunity to vanish. You were leaning on a bicycle rack; the fight took more out of you than you realized.

 

           “Why did you attack us in the tower then?” Clint demanded, clearly defensive.

 

              “In all fairness, you did shoot first. I had no intention of fighting you guys, I only snuck in ‘cause I thought you’d be more suspicious if I just announced myself—especially you, Nat,” you replied, rolling your shoulder uncomfortably. “You know I was never one to announce myself, I was hoping to essentially just sneak around until I found you, and talk to you sister to sister.”

 

               Natasha walked over to you, and at first you thought she was going to say something, but you jolted in surprise when she enveloped you in a tight hug. You stiffly hugged her back, shocked.

 

              “Well, I’m glad we have one issue out of the way, ‘cause we have a bigger one now,” Steve announced, walking out of the alleyway.  Everyone looked at him questioningly, and Sam replied with an irritated, “Oh great, now what?”

 

              “They took Bucky.”

 


	7. The New Avenger

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it's been so long guys!! Life happened :P 
> 
> So as an I'm-sorry gift, here's a massive update!! 
> 
> Not too much happens, but I won't spoil it for you :P there's more action and craziness to come later!! ^_^
> 
> So what happens to you in the story now?  
> You'll just have to read on and find out, won't you? :P 
> 
> Enjoy!

Everyone stared at Steve with a mix of shock and exasperation. They had found him just a couple of months ago, hiding in an empty house in Brooklyn. Since then, he had made huge strides in recovering his memory and feeling more like his old self again. Now that HYDRA had him again, they knew that all that time, effort, and progress would be wiped out in a single electrocution.

“Let’s get back to the tower. We might be able to track their cars from there and rescue him before they can wipe him again,” Nat said reassuringly, releasing you as she headed for the cars, once again all-business.

Everyone nodded and piled into the cars they had brought. Even though you knew the Avengers were—at least somewhat—accepting of you now, you could still sense their tension towards you, so you tailed behind Nat like a lost puppy as you both climbed into the back of a showy sports car. The archer was driving, and a girl about your age in a red coat sat in the front passenger seat. As they took off back towards the tower, the girl in the front seat twisted around to look at you.

“You’re new. What’s your name?” she asked in a thick accent, smiling at you welcomingly. You didn’t recognize her from your entry fight, so you figured she probably wasn’t going to hold it against you as much as the others; at least, she hadn’t so far.

“(y/n),” you replied, shyly half-smiling back.

“Don’t worry about the guys; they’re just grumpy old men,” she joked, winking playfully at the archer. He threw her a lighthearted exasperated-and-slightly-offended look before returning his eyes to the road. You quietly laughed through your nose at their exchange; you were rather shy when you weren’t kicking people’s asses.

“I’m Wanda by the way, this is Clint. I’ll introduce you to everyone else when we get to the tower,” she said kindly, before sitting facing forwards again. You glanced at Nat, and she nodded at you with a reassuring look. You sighed, feeling a little better, and slightly scooted down in your seat. You were thankful that whatever they gave you in the infirmary for pain hadn’t burned off with your metabolism when you were fighting; you would be in some serious discomfort after fighting both the Avengers and a crapload of HYDRA agents.

The car pulled into a private parking garage behind the tower, and swung around into a parking spot. “Everyone out,” Clint announced, turning off the car and pulling out the keys as he left. You and the other two girls followed suit, heading for the elevator. The other car with the rest of the Avengers in it was just pulling in, and you held the elevator for them as they piled out of the car and rushed in behind you. Despite his outwardly cool appearance, you could practically feel the fear and panic rolling off of Steve in waves. As the elevator rocketed up, you focused your emotions to a calm and serene level, and then you reached out to his mind. You let your emotions affect his, and you sensed his anxiety and tension quickly drop. You brought your mind back into your own headspace, and you could see that he felt a bit better just by looking at his face. It was somewhat cramped and uncomfortable in the elevator with the mass of people in it, but you’d survive. The elevator finally reached its destination, and you all exited. “Everyone, I want to introduce you to Natasha’s sister before we get started,” Wanda announced, and everyone more or less lined up around you with impatient looks on their faces.

“I already introduced you to Clint, and of course you know Natasha. The tall blonde guy with the short hair and America costume is Steve,” she said, gesturing towards him. “The other blonde one with the long hair is Thor. The guy with the wing-suit is called Sam, and that’s everyone who’s home right now,” she continued, nodding a dismissal at the rest of the Avengers. As they all scattered to start tracking the SUVs, she turned to you. “There are also some people who’re out on a mission together right now. The guy with the goatee and metal suit is Tony, and the red-and-silver skinned one is called Vision.”  You interrupted her with very furrowed brows and said, “Silver?”

She nodded, smiling. “You’ll see when they get home. There’s also my brother, Pietro, he has whitish hair, and one of Stark’s suit buddies named Rhodes is out with them too. The guy who was chasing you with Steve—you know, the one we’re looking for?—his name’s James, but he prefers to go by Bucky. There’s another member of the team named Bruce Banner, but we don’t know where he went or if he’ll be back; he left without saying anything right after everything happened in Sokovia,” she explained, and you stood there with somewhat wide eyes as you memorized and analyzed everyone’s names.

”Everyone knows who you are already though; Nat explained everything to us while you were out,” she finished, smiling. You nodded in understanding, vaguely wondering how much Nat had told them about you, and she gave an affirmative nod as she walked away to help with the tracking. You didn’t want to push your welcome by jumping into doing too many things, so you just wandered and observed everyone as they went through every possible way of tracking down the SUVs containing Bucky. Thor took off from the balcony, flying with his hammer, to see if he could figure out which way they went and maybe catch them driving. You eventually resigned yourself to sitting down in a spinning office chair next to Nat to watch her work. There was nothing she wasn’t doing that you could suggest, so you simply observed and dozed every so often. You felt guilty for not doing more to help—you were, after all, the reason he has gotten captured as collateral damage of you running off—but there wasn’t anything to do that someone else didn’t  have covered.

They hunted on street cameras and online for hours and hours, with a couple breaks for Nat to give you pain med doses when it wore off and the sharp, fiery pain returned, and before long it was just past sunrise. With a heavy sigh, Nat finally slumped back in her seat, defeated. “This is useless guys. If we haven’t found them by now, we’re not going to. Not until they resurface again.” You looked over to Steve, who opened his mouth as if he was about to protest, but Sam put a firm hand on his shoulder.  

“We should all get some sleep then, we’ve been up all night,” Clint added, standing up and stretching.

“Don’t worry Steve, we’ll still keep an eye out, but we’ve been looking for them all night and still haven’t turned up anything, so I agree with Nat, we probably aren’t going to until they get comfortable and start slipping up, or if they come out of hiding,” Sam said, and Steve gave a resigned sigh of agreement. You could feel the drop in spirits in the room, so you quickly repeated what you had done in the elevator, but with positive emotions to help his hopeless ones. With that, everyone split up to either go downstairs for a bite to eat, or upstairs to their rooms to sleep for a while.

“Go ahead and follow the others down to the kitchen; I’ll be down soon, I’m gonna call Stark and let him and the rest of the team know what’s going on,” Nat said, nodding towards the door. You nodded your agreement and  started down the stairs, following the echo of the other Avengers’ voices. You were only this shy and quiet because you didn’t know anyone; you had been away from HYDRA for long enough now that you had most of your old personality back. With that, you also had a fair amount of social anxiety when it came to social gatherings in which you had to be yourself; largely because most of your social interaction when you were at HYDRA either involved being a brainwashed mutant assassin drone, slipping into other characters at high-class parties for missions, or being tortured into submission when the brainwashing started to wear off—needless to say, you didn’t have that much practice with handling your own personality around others, particularly people who didn’t _actually_ want to hurt you.

You reached the bottom of the flight of stairs and quietly walked through the open door.  Steve, Sam and Wanda were gathered around the table, picking toasted blueberry freezer waffles off a large plate buffet-style. You crossed your arms, unsure of what to do next. _‘I’d probably just look rude and entitled if I grab a plate and start serving myself food,’_ you thought, lingering by the door. You were brought out of your thoughts as Steve approached you. “You look hungry, why don’t you come eat with us?” he invited, smiling at you with a gentle expression. You nodded and softly muttered an “okay” as you followed him to the table. You picked up a plate and put a few waffles on it—you would normally eat much more for your metabolism, but you didn’t want to look like you were taking advantage of their hospitality, so you figured three was a modest amount; then you followed him down the line and buttered them, following up with syrup. You picked up your plate again and followed him into the living room, where Sam and Wanda sat watching the early morning news. You curled up in a chair and started to cut through the small stack of waffles. As the news report finished, Sam turned off the TV. An awkward silence fell across the four of you, and you felt your nerves kicking in. You focused on your waffles, hoping that the other 3 weren’t staring at you. Eventually, Sam broke the silence.

“So Natasha never told us what your mutation is; you ran off before we finished talking,” he said, addressing you. You glanced up at him, taking a bite of waffle so you didn’t have to answer right away—it’s rude to talk with food in your mouth, after all.

Inwardly sighing, you swallowed your bite, then replied, “It’s nothing special, really. The super-soldier stuff affected me more than the mutation enhancer they gave me—that just brought out a couple more little details of my mutation; I guess it was already pretty established.” You promptly took another bite of waffle, hoping that you hadn’t said too much.

“Wait, super-soldier serum?” Steve said, scooting to the edge of his seat and leaning forward. You let yourself sink into the chair a little more as you nodded, wondering what was suddenly so interesting about those three words. He took a minute to digest that information before replying.

"You sure those waffles are gonna be enough for you?” You shrugged and nodded an affirmative as you took the last bite, but your stomach decided to betray you by uttering a loud grumble. You felt your face flush as Sam and Wanda burst out in a fit of giggles. Steve laughed lightheartedly, and you broke into a smile in spite of your embarrassment. “Why don’t we get you some more waffles? Usually it takes about 7 to fill me up, and even then I’m hungry again by lunchtime,” Steve grinned, picking up his and the others’ plates.

You followed him to the kitchen, and he pulled another box of waffles out of the freezer. “You seem pretty quiet, are you ok?” he asked, casually dropping a couple waffles in the toaster.

“Yeah, I just feel so….out of place here,” you replied, slipping onto one of the stools by the kitchen island. Steve nodded understandingly, and placed a glass of water on the counter in front of you, and you began to sip at it.

“I had an idea while we were looking for Bucky last night; I didn’t want to bring it up in front of the others, just in case you weren’t open to the idea,” he began, removing the first set of toasted waffles and placing them on a plate. You hummed into your glass, wordlessly asking what he meant. Steve finished switching the waffles, and then turned to lean on the counter.

“What do you think about joining the Avengers?”

Your eyes widened with shock and you immediately choked on your drink. Steve rushed over and patted your back, helping you to get the last of the water out of your windpipe. When you were done with your coughing fit, he returned to his original stance, clearly all ears.

“What makes you think I’m good Avengers material? I mean, you barely know me, less than 24 hours ago I threw you over a couch, and I got your friend captured by HYDRA,” you said, looking at him utterly confused.

“Well, I’m sure you’ll be living here with us now—Nat will probably put you in her room for now—so we’ll all get to know each other better just by being around each other more. You’re looking at the fights from the wrong angle though; you literally took on the strongest Avengers—and I bet you would have won if Buck hadn’t tranquilized you—and you also took out more than half the agents that were there on the street last night! From what I’ve seen and heard, you’re strong, brave, and a good person at heart—and the last is what we look for most in a new Avenger. Plus, I'm sure your abilities would be very valuable on missions.” Steve replied, switching the waffles one last time. You were speechless, and you simply sat and stared at him as you considered your options. If you just stayed there to get back on your feet, what would you do and where would you go afterwards? You didn’t know, you definitely wouldn’t be able to get a “normal” job out in the world; not to mention, the emotional toll it would take on Nat after what happened when you were kids, it would be like losing her sister all over again. You then considered the other option; become an Avenger. You would have a strong support system; even if they didn’t initially want to be supportive, you knew your sister would likely scare them into being nice—that thought made you inwardly giggle. You would also have somewhere to live, food, and you would be able to live amongst a group of people who would be more accepting of you and your abilities than the day-to-day citizen. Not to mention, going on missions with them would allow you to do something with the knowledge you spent 25 years trying to resist. To you, the final decision was obvious.

You looked at Steve, smiled, and replied, “When do I start?”

 A huge grin appeared on Steve’s face as he gave you the toasted waffles with some butter and syrup. “Right now, although you won’t technically be considered an official Avenger until the entire team weighs in on it,” he explained. You could tell that made his day, despite his best friend being in HYDRA’s clutches again. “You finish eating, then meet us in the living room; I’m sure you remember which floor that is. I’m gonna get the team together and discuss this with them, we should be close to a final decision by the time you get up there,” he finished, wiping off the counter. You nodded, and he walked out into the living room. You heard him say something to Sam and Wanda, and then the three of them entered the elevator. A few moments later, you heard what sounded like a helicopter, and a loud thud on the floor above you. You figured that Thor had finally come home, and you resumed eating.

You sat and pondered how your life had just turned on its head while you ate. Just over 24 hours ago, you were a rogue, homeless assassin holed up in an abandoned, decaying old apartment building, and now you were practically an Avenger. You wondered what the reactions were when Steve broached the subject of it to the team; were they accepting, or did they freak out? You were also worried about what would happen if the rest of the team decided against you becoming an Avenger—would they still let you live with them, and would they treat you like a leech if they did?  You suddenly realized that you were scraping syrup off your plate in an attempt to stall going up to the living room. You weren’t sure if you wanted to go up there and find out what the reality of the final decision was. You took your plate to the sink and washed it off, and then you put the butter and syrup away. You grabbed the paper towels and you wiped off the counter where you had been sitting; there was nothing there, but you did it anyway. You finished off your glass of water and washed that too, and then you dried all your dishes and put them away. You were finally at the realization that there was nothing more you could do to stall anymore; you had to go up there, it was inevitable. You took a deep breath and steeled yourself for the worst as you walked towards the elevator. You resolved to walk into the living room with as much modest confidence as you could muster, and you stepped into the elevator. You pressed the 91 button once more, and the elevator moved up. It took less time than you would’ve liked, and the doors opened before you were ready.

The Avengers were all there, standing in a half-moon some feet from the elevator door. You looked at each of them, but none of their faces gave away a hint of the final decision. You suddenly realized that you probably could’ve read someone’s mind to find out what the decisions was before you came up here, but too little too late. You stepped out of the elevator with next to no confidence in your stance. You felt like you looked like a puppy that had just gotten in trouble.

“(y/n)” Steve said, addressing you. You stepped forward and met his gaze, nervously chewing the inside of your cheek. Steve’s face broke into a huge grin.

“Welcome to the Avengers!”


	8. Eagle's Erie

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wow!! So this chapter took off!! I didn't have much of a way to split it without it being a messy and short 2 chapter split, so here's one really long chapter xD  
> You, the reader, have a big scare in this one, but it's nothing you can't handle!!  
> What might that scare be?
> 
> Read on, and find out :D

You stood there, mildly shocked. With how tense they were towards you still, you couldn’t believe that they came to that final decision that quickly or easily—you suspected that Nat may have nudged things in your favor, and for that you were grateful. You managed to utter an awkward “Wow, thank you”, simply because you were too stunned and suddenly out of your comfort zone to think of anything more cordial or better-worded. Surprisingly, it was Clint who came to your rescue this time.

“Since you’re officially an Avenger now, we should really find a room for you here,” he began, gesturing towards the upper floors.

“We should probably wait for Tony to give final say on which one, though. You know how he has those odd rooms dedicated to old projects that no-one’s allowed to enter,” Sam said with a grin. You wondered if this was an inside joke, but decided not to question it. Clint nodded and furrowed his brows in thought.

“What about the one next to Nat’s room?” he suggested.

“Nope, I think Stark has some old Ultron prototype pieces in there,” Wanda replied.

“She can share my room for now. Just until Stark gets back, at least, and they’re supposed to be back late tonight,” Nat offered, shrugging her shoulders. Clint nodded at her and said, “There we go then. Your backpack is still on the other side of that couch where you left it if you want to grab it right quick.” You jogged over to the couch and carefully swung the backpack over your shoulder, then proceeded to follow Nat to the elevator.

The rest of the Avengers had dispersed by now, going off to do whatever they needed to do. Nat pressed the 95 button—you assumed that the hidden number pad stayed lit when the elevator was up here. A few seconds later, the doors opened into a hallway with a very “modern” style to it; hardwood floors with a long runner rug, a muted blue paint on the walls, and a couple abstract art pieces hanging in between the 3 designer-style doors. You didn’t miss the keypads above the door handles, and you watched out of the corner of your eye as Nat typed hers in— 112284. You smirked at the significance as the lock clicked and Nat swung open the door. Bedroom was an understatement; it was more the size of a studio apartment, complete with a mini-kitchen and a large adjacent bathroom. A red and black sheer curtain separated the living area of the room and what you assumed to be the actual bedroom area. Red and black ombre curtains draped the tall windows gracefully. The room was furnished in all-black furniture, from the black leather couches to the dark endtables and dresser.  Her things were somewhat scattered around the room; except her weaponry, which you were sure was safely tucked away somewhere. You set the backpack down on the nearest couch as Nat finally spoke up.

“This is where you’ll be sleeping until we have a room set up for you, which will hopefully be done by tomorrow night. I’ll give you a tour of the upper floors once you’re comfortable exploring,” she said, smiling. You nodded and smiled back, the nerves of being in your sister’s presence after so many years eating away at you. You were somewhat shocked that she hadn’t started interrogating you to find out what happened after the Black Widow Program so (un)gracefully rid themselves of you.

“Just out of curiosity, what are your favorite colors nowadays?  I remember you used to absolutely _love_ green,” she said, handing you a bottle of water.

You were somewhat thrown off by the question; you were so used to just being assigned to things that having your personal preferences asked about or taken into consideration was foreign to you. You blinked a couple times, taken aback, before you replied, “I like (f/c and f/c) now, but green isn’t bad,” you replied. She nodded and hummed an interested “huh” as she made her way over to a set of cupboard doors next to the bathroom.

“You can take the bed, I’ll take the couch,” Nat said, opening one of the doors and pulling out some blankets and a pillow.

“Are you sure? I can take the couch, it’s just one night,” you said, moving to gently take the contents of her arms. She gave you a look that said “Don’t argue with me,” and replied with “Yes, I’m sure,” then began setting up the pillow and blankets on the couch. You shifted your bag out of her way as she moved to tuck the blanket at the foot of the couch, guilt over her temporary eviction from the bed beginning to creep up inside your chest.

That is, until she folded back the couch and pulled out the end to make a very squishy, comfy-looking queen-sized futon. You still felt some guilt over the dynamic, but _damn_ that futon looked comfortable.

As she built a nest of blankets, you casually brought your bag over to another couch. You didn’t want to remove all the contents just to pack them up again, so you carefully weaseled your hand around your belongings to find what you were looking for. It was a tiny velvet bag, half as big as your palm. You carefully pried open the drawstring and peeked inside to confirm that the contents were still there; they were. Taking a self-reassuring breath, you approached your sister, standing back a couple feet to allow her room to finish building the futon into another bed. She hastily stuffed a gun under the pillow; she tried to be sneaky, but you caught the small movement just the same. Now done, she looked at you questioningly, then glanced at your hands, which were comfortably tucked behind your back. You saw her shoulders stiffen slightly, and you vaguely wondered if she and the others thought you might just be there to do HYDRA’s  dirty work and finish off your sister. You didn’t dwell on it, opting to give her the bag before she got suspicious over your hesitation.

“I thought you might like this back; I found it tucked in a file cabinet when I ran,” you said, holding out the tiny pouch. She took it somewhat gingerly, as if she were bracing for a trap. It saddened you to see her this up-in-arms towards you, but you couldn’t really blame her. Before she opened it, she asked, “Why were you looking in file cabinets if you were trying to run?”

“I wanted to get my file before I left; I didn’t want HYDRA to have all that info on hand to use to try to bring me in again, or to reference whatever torture happened to work best if they managed to recapture me,” you said. It was the full truth, reasons and all. You saw her eyes light up a little, and as much as you didn’t want to dim her hopes, you decided that for now, telling a blatant lie was the best option. “I didn’t find it though; just the pouch. They must’ve taken it out of the cabinet for reference, or maybe a silent alarm sounded, I don’t know, but I’d be willing to bet that the pouch fell out of the file,” you said, putting on a mask of slight dismay. You watched as the hopefulness drained from her eyes, but it was quickly replaced by curiosity as she turned her attention back to the baggie.

“I’m sure we’ll find it on a mission or something; you were smart to try to get it when you left, though,” she half-mumbled. She gently squished the baggie to feel the contents, and her eyebrows furrowed further. She pulled open the drawstring and peered inside, and her eyes widened as she quickly emptied the contents of the pouch into her other hand.

In the palm of her hand lay a pair of small, collarbone-length necklaces, the tiny star pendants tastefully adorned with miniature blood-red rubies and near-black sapphires. The jewel patterns complemented each other, the colors on one reversed on the other; and on the points of the stars, which were both adorned with even smaller diamonds—white diamonds on one, black diamonds on the other. The gems were clouded with age and wear, but they still shimmered as bright as they were able. They were gifts from your mother, given to you both as very young children—you were only two at the time. You watched as tears welled up in Nat’s eyes, a stark contrast to her usual, relatively emotionless façade. “These are our sister necklaces,” she whispered, cautiously pushing them around her hand to untangle the chains. You nodded with a demure grin, unsure of how to respond. “Turn around,” she said abruptly, startling you. Unsure, you slowly turned your back, chills racing up and down your spine. You trusted your sister, but usually when someone made you look away, it meant pain. You felt your (h/l) hair being brushed off your neck, and you unintentionally flinched away. You heard a soft, yet surprised intake of breath from Nat at your sudden movement, and she waited a moment before continuing. Moving slower this time, she draped the star with the black points around your neck, and fastened the clip in the back. Just as you went to turn around, she braced your head in place, muttering a “hang on” to you. You froze, partially in fear, partially out of concern. You felt her lightly poke at the base of your skull and you yelped at the shooting pain. She released her grip on you and you spun around, holding your hand over the spot.

“Shit,” she cursed, striding across the room to the doorframe. “FRIDAY, put everyone on high alert, and lock down the Avenger floors of the building. Also, shut down any incoming and outgoing communications,” she barked, and the AI replied with “Yes, Ms. Romanoff.” You were more than confused now, and the fear that had settled in your stomach crawled up your throat as Nat retrieved a small, thin-bladed knife from the top of the doorframe. She strode back to you, and you instinctively half-ran backwards, not daring to take your eyes off her. “Calm down, (y/n), you’re gonna be ok. I need you to look at your feet and stay still - there's something under your skin and I have to cut it out,” she ordered, using her big-sister voice. You looked at her with wide, fearful eyes, but obliged. She walked to stand behind you, and cleared the area she had prodded of your hair. “This won’t be comfortable, but it needs to be done,” she said. You braced for the pain of the knife, but just as she was about to cut, her door burst open.

“The hell is going on?” Clint demanded, looking back and forth between you two as he approached. He paused next to Nat, and exclaimed, “Is that….a HYDRA brand?” You felt your sister give a curt nod and resume her work. You bit your lip as the new pain blossomed along your neck and radiated up your ears, and you were grateful that whatever meds were keeping your other pain at bay were also dulling down this pain. "Could you grab some gauze and a bandage from my bathroom?" Nat asked Clint. You heard him enter the bathroom, and when he returned you heard Nat mutter "thank you". As she pressed the edge of a piece of gauze to your neck, you felt something slide out from underneath the skin - the sensation made you slightly nauseous. The soft feeling of new gauze being pressed against your wound followed, and you reached back to hold it in place as you turned around for an explanation—cause God damn it, you were going to get one. Your expression was not lost on the duo; Nat wiped off whatever was in her hand with the first piece of gauze, and then held it up between her fingers. It was a small metal sphere, no bigger than a small stud earring. You instinctively knew what it was, but you didn't want it to be true.

“Tracker?” Clint asked, and Nat nodded.

You took a second to process this information, and the full extent of its implications hit your like a freight train. You half-collapsed against the back of a couch as your skin turned to ice and your hands turned to Jello. Your eyes were wide with fear; no matter how well you had hidden yourself away, no matter how fast you had run, they had always had an exact pin on your current location. They probably had your movements all mapped out; from the base just outside DC, to DC in the STRIKE team that had come behind the Winter Soldier, back to the base afterwards and then to DC again when you escaped in a bloodbath a couple of years later; and then here, to New York…..and then specifically, here to the tower. Every bridge you had hidden under, every abandoned building, every small decrepit space you had tucked yourself into to hide from them over the past year and a half was likely lit up like a beacon. You wanted to scream, cry, vent your frustrations of how _pointless_ all of that running and careful planning felt,  but all you could do was hyperventilate and stare at the floor with a deer-in-the-headlights look on your face; because they knew where you were. Suddenly, the puzzle pieces clicked into place.

They didn't come for you before because they were waiting you out. You knew that HYDRA knew that Nat thought you were dead; they had made sure of it when they bought you. They knew that because of this, Nat would think you were an impostor and drive you out, along with the rest of the Avengers- and they were there waiting when that happened, even though it didn't happen according to their plans; they didn't just happen to be cruising down the street last night. It then struck you that they probably made this plan after you left, because they knew that Bucky had joined the Avengers; it was only plastered on every available news source at the time. You realized that they only let you go so you could lead them to the Winter Soldier, and so they could capture him when the superheroes came after you on a fox chase. The men in the store made more sense now; they were meant to take you as well, but you had (ironically) hidden yourself in the fighting fray, where they weren't looking. The realization that you had escaped them again without trying both impressed and panicked you, because you were sure they would be back for you.

“We have to destroy that Nat, we’ll be damn lucky if they don’t already know she’s still here,” Clint said hurriedly.

 _‘Wow, does he **have** to be Captain Obvious?’_ you thought sarcastically.

“Not yet; I’ll attach the tracking to a train heading West, that should keep them busy for a while...then I'll destroy this so they can't recalibrate it,” she said, trailing off as she looked at you with concern. You knew she was putting on a brave face because there was another Avenger present. She knelt down beside you and carefully lifted the gauze, making sure that the bleeding had stopped.

“Are you ok?” she asked, gently pressing the bandaid onto the spot. You laughed once through your nose and nodded- she had things to do, and she would be reluctant to leave if you let on about your internal shitstorm of terror. She stood to leave again, knowing full well that you’d be better knowing that HYDRA thought you were on the run again.

“Wait,” you said, and she turned to look at you. You pulled yourself up with the back of the couch and steadied yourself, then proceeded to pick up the other necklace from the cushion. Understanding, she came back and stood with her back to you—even though she knew you were in complete terror mode, she still could take the time to finish your sisterly moment. You clipped the necklace with shaky hands, and she turned to smile at you. You gave a reassuring “I’ll be ok” smile back and she nodded, leaving you and Clint behind as she rushed off to the labs.

You sat back against the couch, taking deep breaths. You needed something to take your mind off the horse race of thoughts in your head. Clint eventually piped up with a suggestion.

“How about I start you on your tour of the upper floors? I know Nat wanted to show you around, but you look like you need a big distraction. The tower’s in half-lockdown, but there’s still a lot to see,” he offered. You decided that seeing where you’d get to live (if you weren’t recaptured in the next 24 hours, that is) was a better option than just sitting here and spiraling into your thoughts and fears. You managed to give an affirmative nod, and he smiled as he opened the door for you. You gathered yourself as much as you were able and headed for the door, uttering a mumbled “thank you” as you walked by. He led you to the elevator and pushed the down button. The elevator arrived in a matter of seconds, and you both entered. Now, the main number pad was gone— covered by a metal sheet, by the look of it—and the holographic pad was the only one remaining. Clint pushed the lowest number, 87, and the elevator safely plummeted. It opened into a small room, with many pictures of people you didn’t recognize hung on one side of the room. The two that stood out to you were those of a man and a woman, who were positioned in the center of the wall. The room smelled of flowers due to the numerous roses and forget-me-nots that adorned the room, and the tealight candles under the pictures flickered with the elevator draft. You looked at Clint quizzically.

“This is the memorial room. Everyone who we love who has died, and everyone who has died because of us in New York, Sokovia, or innocent collateral during missions; their pictures are all hung in this room. Some, though, like New York and Sokovia, we just had to write a special certificate for; you can’t have thousands of pictures in one little room, you know?” he said, an air of sadness in his voice. He was very somber, as were you; it was truly a beautiful room.

“Who are the man and woman in the middle?” you asked.

“Howard Stark and his wife; Tony’s parents. He spends a lot of time in here in December—that’s when they died,” he said, almost mournfully. You nodded in understanding, and he pressed the next button.

Floors 88 and 89 were a lab and a storage room hallway. 90 was the small kitchen/living area where you ate breakfast, 91 was the living room. 92 was another lab, filled to the brim with robotic gadgets and gizmos. 93 was another lab, but more organized and suited for medical purposes. You saw a door labeled “Infirmary”, and you assumed that that led to the hallway where you had woken up, and that the stairwell door was on the other side of the hall. 94 was a massive gym, with every exercise machine you could imagine, complete with a boxing ring and an extra-high ceiling. 95-98 were hallways with more doors; a mix of bedrooms and storage rooms, if what you heard earlier was right.

 99 was like a big locker room, and Clint stepped out of the elevator. You followed, not entirely sure why he had chosen such a simplistic room for an in-depth tour.

“This is where we suit up to go on missions. This room may look huge, but it’s only half of the entire floor. The other side is the garage, and that’s through there,” he said, pointing to a door to your left. You began to walk towards the door, thinking the tour was moving on.

“Hey, not so fast, there’s more I want to show you in here,” he called, just as you reached out for the doorknob. You felt your ears flush with embarrassment as you withdrew your hand and walked over to his new location. You looked at the combo locks on the lockers and thought, _that’s not very practical for emergencies_. You swore Clint read your thoughts, because his face lit up in a smirk as he pressed a small button on top of the lockers. The fronts of the lockers slid straight upwards, revealing everyone’s go-to field gear neatly organized and ready to go. At the end of the line of lockers, one stood entirely empty. “We like to have open spaces on hand; just in case. It looks like that one has your name on it, though,” he said, winking. You beamed, taking that as a sign that at least most of the group had accepted your presence. You glanced toward the garage door again, curiosity burning a hole in your brain. Seeing your attention switch, Clint chuckled and moved towards the door. Putting on his best announcer-voice, he proclaimed, “Ladies and gentlemen! Prepare to be amazed!” You laughed a little, and that was good enough for him. He swung open the door, and you followed. Before you, 2 sleek and shiny quinjets stood at attention. On the side you stood on, Stark’s suits lined the wall, and Sam’s wingsuit pack hung on the wall to your right. You were impressed, to say the least.

The look of awe on your face must have shown clear as day, because Clint broke you out of your trance with a humor-filled, “Wait till you see the fun stuff!”

You raised an eyebrow at him and he motioned for you to follow. He unlocked a door on the far left wall and began to ascend the small staircase inside. You followed, and paused for him to unlock the second door at the top. You prayed that he wouldn’t fart; after all, the relative staircase height and the polite distance meant that his ass was level with your head. The door finally swung open in front of him, and you breathed a silent sigh of relief. It was stupid to worry about things like that, but you always had, ever since you were little. You emerged onto a large tarmac that spanned the entire roof of the building. Other than the painted lines and the small outlets for the ventilation systems, the only other things on that roof were the doorway and a small kiosk that presented an array of buttons. Clint scanned his fingerprint in the kiosk, and flipped a couple switches. The tarmac to your right sunk down in a large rectangle before pulling in level to the roof, leaving a large rectangular hole. Out of the gap rose one of the quinjets; you hadn’t noticed that the area under them was tarmac-paved, not just concrete. As the tarmac became even, you saw that it lined up perfectly with the flight lines on the roof. ”We usually pile into the quinjet from here, but sometimes we’ll just get in down below and take it up here like it’s an elevator. It depends on the day, really,” he explained, flicking the switch and lowering the quinjet back into the garage.

“I have a quick question for you,” you said, following him back to the small stairwell.

“Hmm?”

“Who’s your doctor? I know you guys have on-staff nurses, but none of you guys said anything about one of you being a doc."

Clint sighed heavily. “He….left, after the battle against Ultron in Sokovia. Just took our third quinjet and went who knows where; destroyed the trackers on it too,” he said, somewhat curtly. You wondered what happened to make him leave, but decided not to pursue it.

“I’m a pretty good doctor when I have supplies—do you mind if I try to stand in as one for a bit while I’m here?” you asked sweetly. You had a full medical training when you were under HYDRA's control- the doctor there had taken a liking to you after a while, and had taught you a lot while you were able to learn more than just fighting skills. That was before they started wiping your memory.

He thought about it for a few minutes as the main elevator deposited you back into the main living room. “I don’t see why not; if you’ve got the expertise, and the certified doc is awol, by all means. Just be willing to surrender your spot if he comes back,” he finally replied. You grinned, and meant to ask him when you could start, but he was already on his way back upstairs. You plopped on a couch and sighed, unsure what to do. You felt refreshed after the tour with Clint though, so at least your mind wasn't racing.

Just then, Nat entered the room, and you turned your head towards her slightly as she walked over to sit by you.

“I got the tracker movement switched and the real tracker is destroyed, lucky we caught it in time; there was a team heading this way when they  saw that the tracker had changed its location,” she said, rubbing your shoulder in a calming motion. You nodded and let out a long breath of air that you had no idea you were holding. You visibly relaxed, and Nat’s gaze softened at the sight. You were just relieved that you wouldn’t have to fight them again today; you were already so exhausted from yesterday and last night that you knew you wouldn't have the strength.

"I hear you're our new doctor now?" she continued, grinning at you. You nodded, and she said, "That's great! The nurses were pretty impressed with your suturing." You smiled, absentmindedly fidgeting with your necklace.

"Will I still get to go on missions with you guys?" you asked; you hadn't thought about that when you asked Clint, and ironically, though you liked to avoid conflicts, you started to go crazy after a while if you weren't on the run or on a mission.

"Of course! Bruce went with us when we'd go on missions, I don't see why you couldn't. It's always good to have a field doc," she replied, leaning back on the couch. "Plus, it's not like you're incapable of defending yourself out there; you kicked all our asses yesterday," she laughed, and you burst into laughter as well. It felt nice to be happy without repercussions.

The day dragged on, and you got to know this portion of the team better. When you went up to the gym to run on the treadmill for a bit, you chatted with Cap and Sam and listened to their stories; Sam had many a Falcon story to tell, and Steve told you both all about growing up in Brooklyn. You even heard some entertaining anecdotes from Clint about his time with SHIELD when he came in to do some target practice. When you went upstairs to explore on your own a bit more, you ran into Thor, who, after apologizing profusely for throwing you into a wall, took the opportunity to fill you in on his backstory and the Battle of New York, and also told you all about their valiant fight against Ultron. His manner of speaking made you giggle--you decided that he wasn't as intimidating as you first thought. You chatted with Wanda for a while while she made soup-tomorrow night's dinner, she told you- and soon you became good friends. To your dismay, Nat was busy for most of the day, so you didn't get to catch up with her. You eventually decided that it was probably best to discuss all of that another time, wen you were more settled in. You felt bad about lying to her about your file; you had it right there in your backpack, but you had never gotten much of a chance to look through it yourself, and you were sure there were things in it that you wouldn't want anyone else to know.

After dinner- which happened to be Chinese takeout- you decided to just hang out in Nat's room. You were on much better terms with the at-home Avengers, but you were still a little daunted by all of them in one place, and you were worried about what the other Avengers' reactions and impressions of you would be. When you entered the room, you saw that Nat had come back and picked up a bit. The things that had been scattered around the room were now gone, and two sets of pajamas had been laid out; one on the bed, one on the futon. You changed into the set that had been on the bed; a silky tank top and comfy pants. You left your corset on underneath, as it gave you a sense of security with its armor-like nature. You crawled into bed, and your wounds began to grow a dull ache. You would normally stay up and read, or maybe watch TV, but you were so physically and mentally exhausted from the past 48 hours of craziness that you decided to just sleep.

And sleep is exactly what you did.


	9. A/N!!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just an author's note~

The next chapter is currently under construction!! I haven't abandoned this, promise~  
-JulietteWolfe


End file.
